Last night I started reading a book called Starter For Ten by David "dandy" Nicholls. You may have seen advertisements for the film based on this book. It is about students in the 80s, and they go on University Challenge. I did quite well at this week´s University Challenge (by my standards) so when I saw the book going for half price, I thought i would do my bit for the eventual ruin of the publishing industry as we know it, and snapped it up. (Actually I had to go back the next day after thinking through the possible repercussions of spending three quid on a book.) Anyway, I have been waiting all day for a chance to pick it up again and have a bit of a laugh. But instead, I have been brouhgt to my knees by this:
"I'm stood behind her for the whole of the extended twelve-inch version of 'Blue Monday' by New Order."
That's it. A whole day of anticipation ruined. Now what am I going to do? Watch the fucking rugby?
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Automatic for the people
My mother travelled from Scotland to Hong Kong a few weeks ago, and she brought with her a CD by a Scottish singer/songwriter, David Heavenor, called "The Automatic Eye". This was a more personal gift than it sounds: David is a family friend who used to spend time at our house in the 70s and he is one of those figures from the past who I remember through the filter of summer gardens and heat on the tarmac with the strumming of a guitar as backdrop; he seemed to like spending time with the kids, the price for which was always a story; and the tales he used to tell us ("and the captain said, tell us a tale!") , including the legendary story of the hut in the woods, with its genuinely terrifying denouement, still burn in my mind. The gentle, unmistakeable Scottishness of his voice and its clear timbre contain so many things that I can't even name which are all to do with my memories of childhood, and my undeniable nostalgia for the place where I come from, which, at the risk of sounding sentimental, often seems even further away than 6,000 miles.
I've always been distrustful of people who sing unnaturally, in an accent other than their own, as if ashamed ("Brown Sugar! Just like a young girl should!") ; and I love those voices which in song are no more than a gear shift away from the spoken word: like David's.
The best track on the CD (what cheesy radio DJs call "the standout track") is called "Sign In a Stranger" and lines keep recurring to me, sitting at my desk in the office in the glass edifice where I spend my day, or lying awake at night worrying about work:
building up like storms,
bursting in mid-air
When David sings, in a hush, "I'm walking behind you, I'm climbing the stairs", I'm in a darkened, damp Edinburgh close with someone I can't have. It's strange being transported by something as simple as a song, but I realise that that's what I love about good music, that it can speak to you on so many levels: even though I now know nothing about David, his experiences, his life, I feel as though I know everything I need to know.
I've always been distrustful of people who sing unnaturally, in an accent other than their own, as if ashamed ("Brown Sugar! Just like a young girl should!") ; and I love those voices which in song are no more than a gear shift away from the spoken word: like David's.
The best track on the CD (what cheesy radio DJs call "the standout track") is called "Sign In a Stranger" and lines keep recurring to me, sitting at my desk in the office in the glass edifice where I spend my day, or lying awake at night worrying about work:
building up like storms,
bursting in mid-air
When David sings, in a hush, "I'm walking behind you, I'm climbing the stairs", I'm in a darkened, damp Edinburgh close with someone I can't have. It's strange being transported by something as simple as a song, but I realise that that's what I love about good music, that it can speak to you on so many levels: even though I now know nothing about David, his experiences, his life, I feel as though I know everything I need to know.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
The Byrds
The Beatles are the sound of sitting on a damp wall waiting for something good to happen; of discomfort first mingling with, and then becoming the same thing as, the certainty of salvation.
The Byrds are something different: a beach, a leaf-carpeted grove, slanted sun in your eyes, the promise of something beyond.
I have been listening to this music for 20 years now, so that seems as good a reason as any to invest in a new box set. There Is A Season, it is called. I can’t remember what the previous box set was called, but There Is A Season is a good title, containing as it does a no-arguments-brooked reason for its existence.
There is more Gene Clark here, and with good reason. You don’t miss your water.
Disc 1 kicks off with some pre-Byrds stuff and some tracks from Pre-Flyte. Unlike many exercises of this type, they make pleasant listening aside form, or despite, their evolutionary importance. You can’t say the same for Steve Marriott gurning his way through Consider Yourself or the Reed/Cale demos that lie like the Slough of Despond before the Velvet Underground box set.
Then onto the well-loved classics, straight down the line, with the odd googly for good measure. The tracklisting flows beautifully, a broad and deep introduction to the band with no dud tracks whatsoever: chiming, drowning, skipping, dawdling and traipsing – out on the end of time. The dynamics are spot-on; propulsive and convincing, the rhythm section draws you in like quicksand, the Eighteenth Emergency of Pop.
Tracks tagged onto reissues can shine here, showing themselves to be the true equals of their more celebrated siblings. 65 minutes of bliss – just right. The exact number of drum beats and tambourine tattoos, the exact quantity of piled-high Rickenbacker glory, of heaving walls and pounding floors, of shaken mops of hair and breathless rides home.
The Byrds are something different: a beach, a leaf-carpeted grove, slanted sun in your eyes, the promise of something beyond.
I have been listening to this music for 20 years now, so that seems as good a reason as any to invest in a new box set. There Is A Season, it is called. I can’t remember what the previous box set was called, but There Is A Season is a good title, containing as it does a no-arguments-brooked reason for its existence.
There is more Gene Clark here, and with good reason. You don’t miss your water.
Disc 1 kicks off with some pre-Byrds stuff and some tracks from Pre-Flyte. Unlike many exercises of this type, they make pleasant listening aside form, or despite, their evolutionary importance. You can’t say the same for Steve Marriott gurning his way through Consider Yourself or the Reed/Cale demos that lie like the Slough of Despond before the Velvet Underground box set.
Then onto the well-loved classics, straight down the line, with the odd googly for good measure. The tracklisting flows beautifully, a broad and deep introduction to the band with no dud tracks whatsoever: chiming, drowning, skipping, dawdling and traipsing – out on the end of time. The dynamics are spot-on; propulsive and convincing, the rhythm section draws you in like quicksand, the Eighteenth Emergency of Pop.
Tracks tagged onto reissues can shine here, showing themselves to be the true equals of their more celebrated siblings. 65 minutes of bliss – just right. The exact number of drum beats and tambourine tattoos, the exact quantity of piled-high Rickenbacker glory, of heaving walls and pounding floors, of shaken mops of hair and breathless rides home.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Flash is fast, Flash is cool
It must be the first and only time that the word “sacroiliac” has ever appeared in a song lyric. On paper it’s a toweringly cheesy idea, but somehow in song it works: how else to explain the unexpected shiver down my spine on hearing in passing a bar or two from Blondie’s “Rapture”?
I don’t think it’s just pure nostalgia either. Something about the cool, easy way Debbie Harry (oh, how it used to irk me when they called her Blondie! No, that’s a category error, I should have self-importantly cried) drawls: “Fab Five Freddie told me everybody’s fly…” makes the unworkable work. Poor old Vanilla Ice, who tried the same thing to practically worldwide opprobrium just a few years later, should have learned from Debbie’s chutzpah: do it first, do it best, then henceforth keep well away from a genre you are plainly ill-suited for.
Like many things, of course, none of this bears closer analysis, least of all the lyrics (“You get in the car and you drive real far/And you drive all night till you see a light/And it comes right down and it lands on the ground/And out comes the man from Mars”, anyone?). But I’ll throw my hands in the air like I just don’t care, and that’s what music is all about.
I don’t think it’s just pure nostalgia either. Something about the cool, easy way Debbie Harry (oh, how it used to irk me when they called her Blondie! No, that’s a category error, I should have self-importantly cried) drawls: “Fab Five Freddie told me everybody’s fly…” makes the unworkable work. Poor old Vanilla Ice, who tried the same thing to practically worldwide opprobrium just a few years later, should have learned from Debbie’s chutzpah: do it first, do it best, then henceforth keep well away from a genre you are plainly ill-suited for.
Like many things, of course, none of this bears closer analysis, least of all the lyrics (“You get in the car and you drive real far/And you drive all night till you see a light/And it comes right down and it lands on the ground/And out comes the man from Mars”, anyone?). But I’ll throw my hands in the air like I just don’t care, and that’s what music is all about.
Monday, September 18, 2006
A Little Hell
In the gym this morning they were playing Jamiroquai (as a brief respite from Nickelback: albeit not brief, and no respite) and in the shower I was musing about Jay Kay's inexplicable global success as he whinged in the background: a multi-millionaire who espouses green issues but owns dozens of cars; whose lyrics are the wrong side of doggerel (“I got candy in my heels tonight, baby” doesn't really withstand any kind of textual analysis); whose records all sound the same; a posturing, style-dodging white boy who steals everyone else’s sound and puts it through a hot wash to produce anaemic cod-funk and who’s been getting away with it for ten (10) years now.
Either he’s thick as mince or we are.
He’s always wearing a risibly oversized hat, though, so no one really knows what he looks like. Genius! He gets to make shite records and walk away incognito to his Lotus Élan.
Set this against the equally inexplicable failure of Maximo Park to make much of an impact (thus far) and you have a real travesty.
Either he’s thick as mince or we are.
He’s always wearing a risibly oversized hat, though, so no one really knows what he looks like. Genius! He gets to make shite records and walk away incognito to his Lotus Élan.
Set this against the equally inexplicable failure of Maximo Park to make much of an impact (thus far) and you have a real travesty.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Madame Onassis Got Nothin' On You
An early rockumentary, showing where Rod Stewart, Ronnie Wood, and the rest of The Faces got their raunchy and rebellious image, providing an "excess all areas" pass to the kind of backstage high-jinks that got the seventies such a bad name. Hold on to your hollyhocks!
Monday, August 21, 2006
Insane Clown Posse
I am quite surprised that Leo Sayer's classic song of urban multi-instrumentalist alienation, "One Man Band", was written for the toughest man in rock, Roger Daltrey. See for yourself on this excellent video, uploaded by the equally excellent Paris1919:
PS: I apologise for Leo Sayer's lack of afro.
PS: I apologise for Leo Sayer's lack of afro.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Validate Singleton
I have watched "Boyz n the Hood". It stars Cuba Gooding Jr, an actor what I saw in real life last year, at the San Sebastian Film Festival, where he was promoting a truly terrible film in which he has physical relations of a sexual nature with BAFTA award-winning actress Helen Mirren. Had I known that he had hung out with Compton's Most Riddled With Attitude Problems, I would have been more impressed. I believe the crucial shooting scene, where Ice Cube empties his clip, takes place in the same "parking lot" as the time travel sequence from the far superior "Back to the Future".
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Silver Machine vs Love Me Like a Reptile
I have decided that my job is like being in Hawkwind - smelly, pointless, going nowhere. What I need is a job that equates to forming Motorhead - admittedly also smelly, but dynamic and unstoppable, like a runaway freight train shovelling speed instead of coal.
To extend the analogy, I suppose I need to meet the subtitling Philthy Animal.
Instead, I am stuck with The Worst Week of My Life, a BBC comedy series that updates the standard scenario of hapless middle class twat creating havoc and navigating his way through pandemonium.
What annoys me most about this series is its outdated assumptions, such as "it is unacceptable to talk about breastfeeding" and "inverted nipples are something to be ashamed of" and "pregnant women do not have sex" and "people called Cordelia are more worthy of attention than people with normal names".
It is a load of posh crap, and I urge you to avoid it.
To extend the analogy, I suppose I need to meet the subtitling Philthy Animal.
Instead, I am stuck with The Worst Week of My Life, a BBC comedy series that updates the standard scenario of hapless middle class twat creating havoc and navigating his way through pandemonium.
What annoys me most about this series is its outdated assumptions, such as "it is unacceptable to talk about breastfeeding" and "inverted nipples are something to be ashamed of" and "pregnant women do not have sex" and "people called Cordelia are more worthy of attention than people with normal names".
It is a load of posh crap, and I urge you to avoid it.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Nirvana - Live! Tonight! Sold Out!
My dad used to call me a bloody anti. He meant that I was a contrary little bleeder. Nirvana's 1994 VHS release Live! Tonight! Sold Out! is a masterclass in bloody anti behaviour, from the title on down. This 83 minute film documents their discomfort at "selling out" by which they seem to mean simply becoming successful. They are repeatedly shown claiming that the music is all that matters, yet a large percentage of the video's running time is taken up with extra-musical matters, and the music itself is edited in such a way as to preclude the normal enjoyment one might find in watching a performance by a favourite group. This is fine with me. Unlike most music videos or DVDs, I was not itching to switch off after ten minutes. I was fairly gripped in fact, and when I wasn't gripped, I was transfixed by a strange squirming embarrassment. There is no doubt in my mind that here was a brilliant, brilliant group, and this video does a great job of putting them in context, without spin or gloss. Television appearances are shown with the original incongruous presenters' claptrap (Jonathan Ross is a prize twat), and the original on-screen text, all of which helps to expose the absurdity of the whole circus without allowing the film to become a morose reflection on the perils of popularity. Some of the attempts to sidestep the mechansims of fame (singing in a funny voice, miming with no attempt to suspend disbelief) presage the coming of Robbie Williams, a performer whose refusal to take himself seriously has done nothing to slow down his global ascendance. There are hardly any glimpses of "the real Kurt" (unless on stage lost-in-music counts). The best bit by far is when a bouncer tries to beat Kurt up after he takes a lunge at him with his guitar whilst crowd-surfing. One telling interview clip trots out the old "we're not interested in the business side of things" line of evasion, before Kurt pipes up with "but you have to take an interest, otherwise people will take adavantage of you". So I suppose that is the difference. In the olden days, pop stars didn't mind being taken adavantage of, until it was too late. This enabled Joe Brown and the Bruvvers to develop unhindered, whereas now we have a fight, with pop stars dissipating their energy by becoming food critics or whatever they need to assuage their falling star, or rather their star that never quite comes into being, forever reamianing a ball of gas. The glory is gone, and here you can see it being flushed down the toilet.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Much too long and quite boring. Hurrah!
I made a CD for my friend in China - only it seems a lot like I made it for myself:
Cat Power – The Greatest
Reluctant as I was to pick the most obvious track from the album, I have because it remains my favourite, mainly due to listening to the album when falling asleep, resulting in only ever really remembering the first 3 songs properly.
Au Revoir Simone – Backyard of our Neighbours
One of those bands where you hear a track on a compilation and think ‘that sounds good, I’ll buy their album’, then upon listening to the album realise you should have left it at the one track because the rest of it is quite weak and little annoying. This is the good track obviously.
Nina Nastastia – It’s a Dog’s Life
This is funny because it’s about being a dog and how although it’s fun to be a dog sometimes you are misunderstood and chased away by old men and sometimes you upset small children. Just like being a human.
Neko Case – If You Knew
I am still firmly in my Neko Case phase. This is slightly more, erm, strident than I’d usually go for, but I like it nonetheless. I am pretty sure that the recipient of the CD will dislike it though.
Concretes – Chosen One
Still not sure about the Concretes, but I really like this one. Also squashed face cats in the video.
Jenny Wilson – Let My Shoes Lead Me Forward (Knife mix)
This one makes me feel clever because it’s a bit dancey and I’d never heard of Jenny Wilson, and for quite a while I mistakenly thought it was Jenny Lewis the winsome country singer being remixed by the Knife, and I was impressed but it turned out it wasn’t her, but remained impressed, albeit in a different way.
Orange Juice – Rip It Up
Just because.
Baltimora – Tarzan Boy
This was the entire reason for making this CD, so my friend could hear this, err, gem. Anyway, it’s pretty much terrible, apparently sung by people who have no idea how to pronounce English, but who are actually Irish, so should know better. The chorus is the best part, and the bits where he says ‘monkey business’.
April March – Winter Cave
I don’t know if I like April March, I think I bought this album because it has a cover of ‘Some Things Just Stick in Your Mind’, but I find her voice grates a tiny bit. Naturally I included the track mainly because it would make me look eclectic.
Stina Nordenstam – Winter Killing
Lovely lovely Stina, revealing herself in this song as the other woman in an affair. Proof if proof be need be that Millie Jackson’s concept album ‘Still Caught Up’ was not the final word on this subject. Thankfully.
Camille – Vous
Makes me look good because its modern and in French. The French aspect helps cover up the fact that it’s a bit shite. No idea what it’s about but suspect it’s political as she can be heard to sing ‘Angleterre’ and ‘Tony Blair’. Oh well.
Belle and Sebastian – Your Cover’s Blown
I still think this is the best thing they’ve done for ages. Also any song that uses multiple key and tempo changes, sounds a little bit like Pink Floyd and uses the word ‘bummers’ is ok by me.
Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Y Control
I just like this.
Francoise Hardy – Ton Meilleur Ami
Again, French, so I look good. Also old, so even more cool points. Could be about bestiality for all I know.
The Motels – Anticipating
A good track from an album that contains many laughable moments, including a song called ‘Porn Reggae’.
Neko Case – Star Witness
More Neko. She pretty lady. Has undertones of violence.
Cat Power – Naked If I Want To
And more again. The word ‘naked’ is a bit rude too.
El Perro del Mar – I Can’t Really Talk About It
I know nothing of this lot; I listen to it and wonder how it is possible to sing like they do.
Coco Rosie – Good Friday
It’s about Santa. I’m running out of things to say.
Kate Bush – The Kick Inside
Wrong choice of Bush here. Totally inappropriate for the target audience. I should have gone for James and the Cold Ham, or something jauntier.
Neil Young – One Of These Days
Again, totally wrong. More proof that I made this CD for myself and I will probably never post it to Shanghai at all. Nice way to end though.
Cat Power – The Greatest
Reluctant as I was to pick the most obvious track from the album, I have because it remains my favourite, mainly due to listening to the album when falling asleep, resulting in only ever really remembering the first 3 songs properly.
Au Revoir Simone – Backyard of our Neighbours
One of those bands where you hear a track on a compilation and think ‘that sounds good, I’ll buy their album’, then upon listening to the album realise you should have left it at the one track because the rest of it is quite weak and little annoying. This is the good track obviously.
Nina Nastastia – It’s a Dog’s Life
This is funny because it’s about being a dog and how although it’s fun to be a dog sometimes you are misunderstood and chased away by old men and sometimes you upset small children. Just like being a human.
Neko Case – If You Knew
I am still firmly in my Neko Case phase. This is slightly more, erm, strident than I’d usually go for, but I like it nonetheless. I am pretty sure that the recipient of the CD will dislike it though.
Concretes – Chosen One
Still not sure about the Concretes, but I really like this one. Also squashed face cats in the video.
Jenny Wilson – Let My Shoes Lead Me Forward (Knife mix)
This one makes me feel clever because it’s a bit dancey and I’d never heard of Jenny Wilson, and for quite a while I mistakenly thought it was Jenny Lewis the winsome country singer being remixed by the Knife, and I was impressed but it turned out it wasn’t her, but remained impressed, albeit in a different way.
Orange Juice – Rip It Up
Just because.
Baltimora – Tarzan Boy
This was the entire reason for making this CD, so my friend could hear this, err, gem. Anyway, it’s pretty much terrible, apparently sung by people who have no idea how to pronounce English, but who are actually Irish, so should know better. The chorus is the best part, and the bits where he says ‘monkey business’.
April March – Winter Cave
I don’t know if I like April March, I think I bought this album because it has a cover of ‘Some Things Just Stick in Your Mind’, but I find her voice grates a tiny bit. Naturally I included the track mainly because it would make me look eclectic.
Stina Nordenstam – Winter Killing
Lovely lovely Stina, revealing herself in this song as the other woman in an affair. Proof if proof be need be that Millie Jackson’s concept album ‘Still Caught Up’ was not the final word on this subject. Thankfully.
Camille – Vous
Makes me look good because its modern and in French. The French aspect helps cover up the fact that it’s a bit shite. No idea what it’s about but suspect it’s political as she can be heard to sing ‘Angleterre’ and ‘Tony Blair’. Oh well.
Belle and Sebastian – Your Cover’s Blown
I still think this is the best thing they’ve done for ages. Also any song that uses multiple key and tempo changes, sounds a little bit like Pink Floyd and uses the word ‘bummers’ is ok by me.
Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Y Control
I just like this.
Francoise Hardy – Ton Meilleur Ami
Again, French, so I look good. Also old, so even more cool points. Could be about bestiality for all I know.
The Motels – Anticipating
A good track from an album that contains many laughable moments, including a song called ‘Porn Reggae’.
Neko Case – Star Witness
More Neko. She pretty lady. Has undertones of violence.
Cat Power – Naked If I Want To
And more again. The word ‘naked’ is a bit rude too.
El Perro del Mar – I Can’t Really Talk About It
I know nothing of this lot; I listen to it and wonder how it is possible to sing like they do.
Coco Rosie – Good Friday
It’s about Santa. I’m running out of things to say.
Kate Bush – The Kick Inside
Wrong choice of Bush here. Totally inappropriate for the target audience. I should have gone for James and the Cold Ham, or something jauntier.
Neil Young – One Of These Days
Again, totally wrong. More proof that I made this CD for myself and I will probably never post it to Shanghai at all. Nice way to end though.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
The First Time We Met, You Were A Kennel Maid
Apparently, THE WHO recreated LIVE AT LEEDS at the same Leeds University Refectory the original concert was performed at. I wonder how they recreated that album's famous "tape clicks", caused by the monstrous volume at which they played back in 1969. I imagine it was like an elaborate game of musical statues.
Disappointingly, the only report I can find of this major cultural event suggests that THE WHO played free and easy with the setlist, whether the original LP or the expanded reissues. There was no skeleton-suited Ox doppelanger tearing into Heaven and Hell while Daltrey beat his chest and hurled himself into a giant concrete mixer, for instance. So I suppose it is a good thing I wasn't there. But Daltrey did undo his shirt to his waist, much to the delight of all the ladies present.
Disappointingly, the only report I can find of this major cultural event suggests that THE WHO played free and easy with the setlist, whether the original LP or the expanded reissues. There was no skeleton-suited Ox doppelanger tearing into Heaven and Hell while Daltrey beat his chest and hurled himself into a giant concrete mixer, for instance. So I suppose it is a good thing I wasn't there. But Daltrey did undo his shirt to his waist, much to the delight of all the ladies present.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Wilkommen auf Papercuts Rekindled
The Rekindled is a contractual obligation, due to someone already having a Papercuts blog. In any case, the idea is to recreate somethinbg of the spirit of the legendary Papercuts fanzine that launched the career of Taxxi out of Waitrose Movement and ended the careers of many others, such as Cousteau and that group who did "We're Going Top Deck".
You are welcome to join in, whether or not you were part of the original Papercuts. You can write whatever you want, as long as it isn't too rude. I suppose it is mainly about music and films and whatnot, but you may wish to rant about public transport, excessive fees at the local yacht club, apalling customer service, or any of the other things people "blog" about. You may even wish to share your innermost thoughts (although I doubt it).
I think I, Sister Disco, am the moderator, but you are welcome to be a moderator once I work out how to do it.
Someone needs to teach me how to do links too.
You are welcome to join in, whether or not you were part of the original Papercuts. You can write whatever you want, as long as it isn't too rude. I suppose it is mainly about music and films and whatnot, but you may wish to rant about public transport, excessive fees at the local yacht club, apalling customer service, or any of the other things people "blog" about. You may even wish to share your innermost thoughts (although I doubt it).
I think I, Sister Disco, am the moderator, but you are welcome to be a moderator once I work out how to do it.
Someone needs to teach me how to do links too.
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